It Begins
by amurderousravinglunatic
Summary: Inspired by an Omegle conversation. Romantically, a life of Johnlock and Mystrade begins. A collection of drabbles. Each entity will be in chronological order. Requests?
1. Introduction

It begins

**Sherlock, I'm sorry for shouting earlier. JW**

**What shouting? I don't remember any shouting. As far as I'm concerned, there was none. -SH**

**Yes there was? You made a complete mess of the kitchen, I was tired and you were dismissive. I shouted a series of colourful words at you. JW**

**Don't remember a thing, sorry. Must have deleted it. How about you try the same? -SH**

**Well, would you just accept my bloody apology, otherwise I won't be able to "delete it". JW**

**I would, however, accepting it would require knowing what you said, and I get the impression that I don't want to be reminded. -SH**

**I won't remind you of what I said, I don't want to remind myself. But I won't feel right unless I know that it is properly behind us. Well, me. JW**

**Look, I'll come out of my room and we can drink some tea and it'll be fine. Alright? -SH**

**Yeah, though I'm not at home at the moment. I'll be home soon though. JW**

**Oh. Where are you? I'll put the kettle on. -SH**

**You: On my way back from ending it with Sarah, she was what sparked my anger. JW**

**She was? What happened? -SH**

**Oh. Just been in kitchen. Remember what happened now. -SH**

**Yeah.. I'm sorry. Now that you remember, I can say it again. JW**

**And, well.. she saw my shoulder scar last night and she wasn't particularly kind about it. JW**

**What? That's ridiculous! She's a doctor, she oughtn't to care, and I've seen it, it's beautiful, and surely she's seen it before? That's ridiculous. You should have broken up with her months ago. -SH**

**Yes I should've. It wasn't the fact that she didn't like it, it was the way her spiteful words made me feel. I mean, I've only just entrusted her with it and she reduced it back to this ugly, hideous wound. An abnormality. JW**

**It's nothing of the sort. Nothing **_**like**_** that. I'll punch her next time I see her if you'd like. And - forgive me for asking, it's not really my business, but - you haven't 'been with her', so to speak, until now? -SH**

**No I haven't and this prevented that from happening. I'm quite glad it did really. I wouldn't want to do anything intimate with someone who reduces me back to a self-conscious child. JW**

**I don't understand how anyone could look at you and not want to worship you. -SH**

**Oh god. That wasn't meant to - John, I didn't mean. I'm sorry, I just - ignore that, ignore it. -SH**

**Wait what? JW**

**Did you.. I mean, did you really mean that? JW**

**No. Of course not. Don't be absurd. Not in the slightest, I just. -SH**

**Oh. JW**

**Hypothetically, though. If I had meant it. -SH**

**Yes? JW**

**Well, what would you say? -SH**

**I'd tell you how I felt. JW**

**That sounds ominous. -SH**

**I'd tell you how that sweet, but generous comment made me feel. I'd also tell you that that's what I think about you and that I do worship you. JW**

**This has ceased being a hypothetical situation. I hope you're aware of that. -SH**

**Yes I am. So, you did really mean it? JW**

**Completely and whole-heartedly. -SH**

**I love you. JW**

**Just reading that felt like you had reached into my chest and squeezed. Metaphorically. Obviously. Although I think I'd let you do it literally if you wanted. -SH**

**In case it isn't clear, I love you as well. -SH**

**I won't even begin to describe how that made me feel. I'd just look like stuttering fool. JW**

**I quite like that. Now, get yourself home ASAP, please. -SH**

**I'm in Baker Street now. Make us a tea please? JW**

**Kettle's on. Been on for a while. Think - no, definitely have fused it. -SH**

John strode into 221B feeling slightly nervous after the text exchange between himself and Sherlock, a mere moment ago. He felt like a fangirl and felt the butterflies flying rapidly around his stomach in a frenzy.

Sherlock looked up from the kitchen, waving slightly nervously at John. "There's, ah, tea. Here." He offered a mug, coming out into the living room.

John took the mug and the corners of his lips twitched up into a small, shy smile. "Thanks." he said sipping it slightly and regretting it automatically. "Bloody hell that's hot!"

"Boiling water," Sherlock said slightly absently, staring at him and blowing gently on his own tea. "Hello, John."

Trying to distract from the burning sensation on his tongue, he looked at Sherlock intently trying to keep his cheeks from going pink. "Hello, Sherlock."

Sherlock glanced away, clearing his throat. "Not entirely certain what to do now, if I'm honest with you. As I've said... not exactly my area."

"Well, this is my area. But I feel the same way... I feel like a teenage girl." John giggled to himself, unable to stop it. He had gone all giddy and embarassed.

"Put your tea down, I want to try something," Sherlock said, resting his mug on the counter and cocking his head, looking down at John.

John obliging put his tea down, still giggling a little. Though he tried to push them away. He was fighting the massive grin that wanted to spread across his face. He looked up at Sherlock.

Sherlock's lips quirked and he smiled back at John, reaching out and cupping his cheek in one hand. "May I kiss you?" he asked quietly.

John released the grin with pleasure, he went to speak but words failed him. So, a smiling John just nodded vigorously. His eyes drawn to Sherlock's lips. He licked his own.

Sherlock nodded back a little, leaning towards him and gently brushing their lips together, thumb stroking softly over John's cheek and his other hand sliding into his hair.

John brought his hand up to Sherlock's neck, pulling him closer delicately as he pushed his lips back into the gentle kiss.

Sherlock let out a quiet noise of pleasure, kissing John with aching affection before pulling away, leaning their foreheads together. "Perfect," he breathed.

John smiled into the kiss, pulling away in unison with Sherlock. He looked longingly up into Sherlock's eyes and felt his cheeks going a little pink. "Most definitely is your area." he giggled a little.

"Really?" Sherlock said, looking rather surprised. "Well, I'm glad that you liked it. I enjoyed it as well."

John smiled at him warmly, before retrieving his tea to take a careful sip. "And you don't have to ask for a kiss, Sherlock." He felt his knees going weak after the beautiful kiss.

Sherlock shrugged slightly. "I was taught that ensuring you have someone's informed consent before any such action is paramount."

"Very polite way of going about it." John nodded "But you don't have to be that careful with me, Sherlock."

"Alright, then," Sherlock said, taking John's tea and setting it down before crowding him up against the wall, kissing him again more forcefully.

John was taken by surprise but loved that Sherlock had done it. John pushed his lips more forcefully against Sherlock, teasing him with his lips. His hand deep in Sherlock's curls.

"Oh - " Sherlock moaned quietly, arms wrapping around John's waist and tongue gently sliding over his lips.

John smiled, his hand still lost while the other pulled him closely to him. The feel of Sherlock's tongue was glorious and he gently slid his into the mix. He kissed him passionately, managing to gently bite Sherlock's bottom lip at the same time.

At the bite to his lip, Sherlock utterly melted against him, hands fisting in the back of his shirt and kissing him harder. Breaking away, he said breathlessly, "A - a bed would be good, about now."

John beamed. His body aching for Sherlock. He nodded in agreement, he leaned in again before flipping Sherlock around so that he was pressed up against the wall instead. John held him there and kissed him passionately, his hot tongue teasing. He bit Sherlock's lip again, slowly. Releasing him and smirking. Moving closer to the bedrooms.

Once they got up to John's room, Sherlock shut the door behind them, kissing John again and starting to take his clothes off before working on John's. "God, look at you," he breathed. "How she couldn't see how beautiful you are, I'll never understand."

John marvelled at Sherlock's body. It was beautiful. But at the mention of his own, he felt himself tense up a little. He smiled and felt deeply moved by what Sherlock had said. He replied instantaneously, "I love you so much." Before slamming his body against Sherlock's again, kissing him again.

"Oh - oh, god," Sherlock breathed, kissing him back hungrily then pulling away, going to the cabinet and tossing John a bottle. "I - I would like you to penetrate me," he said slightly awkwardly. "If you'd like to, that is."

John stared at him playfully, feeling dominant and a yearning need for Sherlock. At Sherlock's comment, the bulge in John's boxers alone showed his attitude towards it. He opened the bottle, not moving his gaze off of Sherlock. "Get on the bed." he said, his voice husk and commanding. He smiled broadly.

Sherlock did as he was told without complaint, for once, ridding himself of his clothes and lying down, propped up on his elbows and legs spread to give John better access.

John used the bottle delicately, his soft Doctor's touch on Sherlock's beautiful, cool, pale skin. Finally, he had finished and was ready. His groin throbbed and yearned for Sherlock. He could feel himself shaking a little. He tugged off his boxers and threw them across the room. He then took his position and put his face near Sherlock's ear. "Ready?" he whispered teasingly.

"God, your fingers," Sherlock gasped out, kissing at his face frantically. "Feel so bloody good inside me - please, I'm ready, more than ready." He hooked his legs around John, pulling him closer.

Obligingly, the good doctor smiled and then thrust slowly into him. He moaned slightly. Then began to gradually build up the pace. He kissed Sherlock, his tongue hot and slippery. His hands explored his body while another part of his own body experimented with different speeds.

Sherlock groaned, arching up against John and kissing him back, almost arching off the bed when John thrust against his prostate. "Oh - god, John!" he cried out, hips canting desperately back towards him.

John moaned variations of "Sherlock" and kept pushing into him until he could feel the influx of blood rushing further towards his penis. He could feel his climax getting closer and closer, practically screaming Sherlock's name. He bit gently at Sherlock's neck. Whispering, telling him of his beauty. He kissed him again before crying out, reaching his pleasure point.

Sherlock's breath sped up and he wrapped his arms around John, tugging him closer and slipping a hand between their stomachs, stroking himself quickly until he spilled over their skin, practically crying with the intensity of the pleasure.

John's pleasure spread across his body, his muscles relaxing. He gently stroked Sherlock, lost in his insane beauty. He kissed Sherlock on the cheek before laying flat on his back, staring upwards at the ceiling. His breath was ragged and he could feel tiredness consuming him, his pleasure too intense to handle. "Sherlock?" he said quietly.

"Yes?" Sherlock replied quietly, curling up next to John and stroking a hand over his chest, fingers and then lips moving to run very softly over his chest, tenderly stroking and kissing at it. "What is it?"

"You're so, so, so very beautiful." John panted. Kissing Sherlock's head and pulling him to him in a cuddle. John felt amazing. The best he'd ever felt. A small tear slid down his cheek, but he wiped it away quickly.

"Oh - John, don't," Sherlock said hurriedly, stroking his thumb over John's cheek and kissing the tear-track away. "And honestly, no. You're the beautiful one, John. Completely."

John shook his head, disagreeing but smiling at the sweet words. He turned to the side so he could look Sherlock in the eyes as well as cuddle him.

Sherlock smiled at him, running his fingers through John's hair. "Do you wish to sleep?" he asked quietly.

"I do, but I want to fall into it." he smiled back. "the longer I get to relish in this sight, the better."

"Well, I plan to do this again," Sherlock murmured, smiling softly, "you'll get to see it as often as you like."

John smiled and made noise of delight. His eyes flitting open and shut. "I love you." he said. He had never felt so sure of something in his life, but his love for Sherlock felt definite and unconditional. He was glad that Sarah had insulted his scar.

"You too," Sherlock said quietly, stroking John's hair and kissing him gently. "So much, John.'

And so it begins, the intertwining lives of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, being moulded together romantically.

**AN: Recognition to the "stranger" on Omegle who wrote Sherlock's parts, I wouldn't have done this without them. This is the sort of Introduction to the drabble, showing how they came together finally. This is my first Drabble series so I'm keen to hear from you all. I will also be taking in requests! Thank-you :)**


	2. Observations

**Observations**

The next day, the pair woke up to several message tones coming from both of their phones. In perfect unison, both Sherlock and John retrieved their phones, jumping out of their sleepy embrace and forcing themseleves to awaken. John seemed far worse at doing this as he stumbled across his room in search of his phone. Sherlock had drifted downstairs and back up again in no time at all. Watching as John tripped over his own feet and landed with a thud, clutching his phone tightly in his hands.

Sherlock stifled a laugh as John looked up at him and just nodded in acknowledgment. He pushed himself up off of the floor, brusing himself off. It was only then that the two men realised that they were still in a state of undress. They both scanned each others bodies quickly, marvelling in the sight as the morning light shone in through John's bedroom. They both started laughing heartily. The whole scenario was comical and John rummaged in his drawers for some boxers while Sherlock just picked up John's duvet and wrapped around himself in a cocoon.

Their messages were all from Lestrade who was sending impatient messages about a new case. Sherlock read the messages and his face lit up with glee. He had just bedded John Watson after what seemed like a life-time of fantasies and no hope and there was brand new case awaiting them. He looked at John like a child at Christmas. John was bewildered.

"A case, John!" Sherlock jumped in the air with a massive grin on his face, clutching the duvet loosely, testing John's ability of whether or not to give in to temptation. John ploughed through bravely, keeping his eyes averted from Sherlock's lower half. John just nodded an "mhm" and picked out a jumper and jeans that he could wear. Sherlock floated over to him, kissing him on the top of the head before disappearing back downstairs.

Soon enough, John plonked down the stairs. He had his blue and black striped jumper on, his jacket already over the top. He had gelled his hair and he smelled divine. He had a pair of jeans on that fit him in the right places and Sherlock acknowledged that he had taken extra time to get ready today.

Sherlock had taken a mere ten minutes to get ready. His hair was in its usually curly state, his skin glowing and eyes bright with life after the sleep that John had helped him achieve. He was wearing a purple shirt as well as his usual smart suit and jacket. He was stood up, wrapping his scarf around his neck as John had entered. The two looked each other up and down again, their sexual tension at a new high. Both of them smiled before John stode over to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He grabbed his keys from the side and the two rushed out, muttering a quick hello and goodbye to Mrs Hudson as she watched her two boys rush off. She shook her head, smiling, going on up to their flat to tidy around and get annoyed with Sherlock's science equipment.

Soon enough the pair were at the crime scene. They were in an abandoned, old hotel in a room that looked like it had once been the Honeymoon suite. Though it was old and ridden with cobwebs and dirt, the slight trace of a warm hue and floral, romantic looking wallpaper made it appear so. Sherlock had deduced this in an instant of course, while John (who had stayed incredibly close beside Sherlock) hadn't yet noticed. The team of police officers were buzzing around the room while Lestrade, Anderson and Sargeant Donovan were stood around two bodies.

One was a young male, with dark floppy hair and slightly tanned skin. The girl was blonde and rather pale. They were both dressed casually and would have looked strange in this suite had the hotel been new and used. The male was sprawled out on his back, while the female was draped across him, her head on one of her arms that was across the man's chest.

"Oh good, you finally came then." Lestrade said sarcastically.

Anderson and Donovan looked Sherlock and John up and down, whispering amongst themselves. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and sighed at the pair.

"Something to say?" Sherlock said crisply, a smile plastered on his face as he knew it would irritate the hell out of them. John tried to stop himself from laughing, while Lestrade looked about in confusion.

Anderson went to go speak before Sherlock quickly cut him off. "I'd let the slightly less-stupid one out of the two of you speak if I were you." He looked at Donovan as if butter wouldn't melt. The two of them looked angry and Lestrade sent them away. They skulked off, throwing Sherlock glares as they went. John smiled happily, watching as they continued to talk amongst themselves.

"Jeffrey Danes, 25 was seen going out to meet Claire Matthews 23 about 8 hours ago. The two were going to elope secretly when their families found out. They left without any of their belongings and a couple of hours ago, they were found here by a homeless man. He said he had spoken with them a few hours prior to their deaths." Lestrade finished, impressed that he had been able to tell Sherlock something for a change.

Sherlock listened to him and then rolled his eyes, loosening his body a little out of boredom. "Dull. I thought this was an interesting case, Lestrade?" he moaned.

"We don't know why they died, Sherlock and they're in a disused hotel. What's dull about that?" he argued.

Sherlock sighed and gave John a look, a look which John interpretted as "You're going to want me so badly after this." He looked at him expectantly, as did Lestrade who was shuffling his feet a little.

"Their families didn't want them to be together, that's why they wanted to do it in secret and why they planned to just up and leave after they learned of their families had learned of their engagement. Claire Matthews is an alchemist, she often does Lab work at Barts and various other hospitals, infact her work in alchemy has often landed her interviews and Newspaper columns. She is a woman of science. She knows her way around poisons and drugs and she was researching a way to fake her and her fiance's deaths. She came up with a compound that would render their heartbeat untraceable for up to a few hours. She had told the lover of her plan and so they planned to go somewhere off track to evade attention from their families. They saw the homeless man and were friendly to him, they knew that he would be a witness and so it would make their story believeable. But after they arrived here and talked things over, things got presumably... a little steamy," Sherlock cast a look to John, who had force himself look away. Donovan and Anderson had returned for the deductions and noticed this little eye contact. "We can tell this from Danes' trousers which aren't done up properly and from Matthew's bra which you can see as an outline on her shirt is not hooked properly. Getting distracted from their plan, they then administered the fake poison. A few hours later, Danes' awoke from his sleep to find that his beloved was not breathing and he could not trace her heartbeat. Immediately, he came to the conclusion that she had properly poisoned herself and couldn't bare that idea. So he took a fragment of that broken mirror and plunged it into his own heart. Soon after, Matthews' came to and awoke to find her beloved sprawled across the floor, definitely dead. She then followed in the footsteps of her lover and did exactly the same thing, with another fragment. You cannot see the wounds on their hearts due to the position of which the girl is draped across the man's body. If you were to pull them apart, you will see that both wounds are identical and so their actual deaths were not the intention. They felt the need to conceal themselves from their families as there is an on-going feud for some forgotten reason and the betrothment of a member of their families to the opposite is forbidden. The two were star-crossed lovers. This is a Romeo & Juliet incident."

Sherlock stopped speaking, Lestrade, John, Donovan and Anderson were all looking at him with their mouths gaping open. John couldn't even think of a compliment to give him as this massive deduction which was spoken fluently as a linear thought was simply outstanding. Lestrade clapped Sherlock on the shoulder and then rushed off to sort things out.

Sherlock turned up his coat collar, winking at John who smirked. They had forgotten that Donovan and Anderson were still stood there.

"That was brilliant, all of that, really." Donovan said, jealousy evident in her tone. "But you still forgot to explain something." She said, attempting to tease Sherlock.

"Like what?" John piped in, not liking it when the two of them tried to take on Sherlock. Even though he knew that Sherlock could out-wit them in a heartbeat.

"What type of _incident_ happened to turn you two into lovers?" She looked smug and Anderson's rodent like face seemed to shine with happiness. John and Sherlock didn't quite know what to do. John wanted to launch himself at Anderson and wipe that look off of his face but he stayed rooted the spot. Neither Sherlock or John were embarassed, they just didn't know what to do. They hadn't anticipated that anyone would notice a difference in their behaviour.

"Well whatever incident that went down between Sherlock and I, I'm sure it's much better than the incidents that happen between you two. It can't be that good, if you're _always_ having to be on your knees, Donovan. Is the actual deed really that inadequate?" John said simply, with a little sass. Sherlock smiled a little, giving the pair a cold glare. Indeed, Donovans knees appeared bruised again. The two looked like they were ready to spit fire, while Sherlock and John smiled broadly at each other.

"And to think you chose him, out of all of the possible hobbies." Donovan replied weakly, trying to muster some kind of comeback.

"The same can be said for you and that rat." John replied.

John felt the need to snap his finger and bobble is head but he restrained, trying to keep in his laughter. Sherlock looked like he had never wanted him more and John returned this look, still impressed by his deductions.

The two of them turned, said goodbye to Lestrade who arranged with John to go out for a drink soon and then they left, laughing about the pair of morons who had managed to get a job in Scotland Yard.


	3. Dinner

**AN: This chapter was written after a suggestion from IamSHERlocked4ever, so props to them! As always, feedback is wonderful! Thank-you :)**

Dinner

A couple of nights later, most of which contained sexual activities of some form or another, Sherlock decided that he would treat John. He had never felt so obviously and unconditionally in love with someone in his entire life. Infact, he had never really loved anyone romantically in his life. Sherlock had remained aloof for most of the day, leaving John alone and trying to make him yearn for him even stronger than normal. Which was impossible, as John always desried Sherlock. Eventually, evening had fallen and Sherlock, who was already at Angelo's, sent John a text.

"**I'm not hungry, let's have dinner. SH**"

John who was up til that point, a little grumpy as Sherlock didn't seem very interested in him today, smiled brightly at his phone screen. He switched off the telly and felt very glad that he had chosen his newest and nicest jumper and jeans to wear today. He muttered a goodbye to Mrs Hudson and left the flat, he didn't even need to ask Sherlock the location as he knew he'd be at his favourite restuarant, even though the man claimed he didn't like food. _Idiot, _John smiled happily to himself, zipping his coat up even highed than usual in the bitter nip of the London air.

John finally reached Angelo's and saw Sherlock sat in a small booth by the window as he usually did, only this time he had arranged several candles onto the table as well as a couple of red roses, laid in a cross in the middle. John padded over to him and sat down, taking his coat off. For a couple of moments, neither of them spoke. They were still suffering from the slight shyness that most couples feel when relationships first ignite. They both giggled and John decided that he should say something. He sat up straight, trying his best to compose his face and hide his big grin. "Hello Sherlock." He tried sounding definitive and ordinary, but it just sounded saracastic, which made Sherlock smile. "Hello, John." His voice was low but menacing and it aroused John more than you can imagine, but he could control it as he was in a public place, even so, he cursed Sherlock for being so attractive and tempting.

"So, what's the occasion?" John asked, leaning back against his chair with his legs crossed.

"Can't a man treat his.." Sherlock paused, his face contorted with thoughts. "Wait, what would our correct label be, do you think? Partner? No, too proffessional. Boyfriend? Hmm, haven't we long past the age for such a youthful term? _Lover?_" Sherlock's face seemed to strike with delight at that last word. "Yes, yes that's it. Can't a man treat his _lover _to a nice dinner?" He smiled as wide as the Cheshire Cat.

John adored the way Sherlock had said the word, and he found it touching that he wanted to call them something. Usually, there can be a little bit of uneasiness if one member of a couple believes it to be exclusive and the other does not, so naturally, John was thrilled.

Angelo came over to us, smiling with joy. "And finally, he is your date!" He clapped his hands together in happiness, and John adjusted his collar, feeling a little embarassed. Angelo snapped his fingers and two young waiters came over with food. "You ordered for me?" John asked, smiling. Sherlock had picked the Spaghetti Bolagnese, which happened to be John's favourite here.

"Well, even though we're not sharing, I thought it'd be romantic. Like Lady and the Tramp."

John laughed, "Who's the tramp?"

"Oh definitely you." Sherlock used his sexy voice again and John chuckled to himself.

"_Whaaaat a dogggg." _John laughed, doing a perfect impression.

Sherlock beamed at him and they tucked into their dinner and red wine which Angelo generously kept refilling. Finally, after small banter and giggles, they finished their course. Sherlock leaned forward, taking John's hand in his own.

"Dessert?" he bit his lower lip, and John's mouth fell open a little.

"Thought you'd never ask." John smiled playfully.

They couldn't move fast enough, they swanned out of the restuarant after Sherlock thrust lots of notes at Angelo who was going to protest but John and Sherlock were very eager to have their final course. After hurrying back down the busy streets, they arrived at 221B, pushing each other against the walls and ripping of garments of clothing, biting and kissing and licking at each other. Finally, they fell into Sherlock's bedroom. Not quite making it to the bed. They panted, their breathing uneven and ragged. After what seemed like forever, they laid on their backs gasping on the floor, still jittery.

"How was the pudding?" Sherlock asked, turning his head to face John.

"Delicious." John replied, "So please Sir, can I have some more?"


	4. Childish Feuds

**Childish Feuds**

John awoke to find that he was on his own, the other side of the bed was ruffled, but there was no sign of the long-limbed, curly-haired detective. John pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes. He had a wash and got dressed before stepping downstairs, eager to get his first tea of the day, but as he walked in he saw a powerful man sat in his seat, a man with the power to kill us all or bling the highest of glory with one single decision. It was Mr Mycroft Holmes.

He saw John and used his umbrella to gesture towards Sherlock's chair. John gulped a little a proceeded forwards, sitting down slightly awkwardly. He felt Mycroft's unfaltering stare lingering on him and he felt uncomfortable. He was friends with Mycroft, but he hadn't felt the aura of the room be like this since he had first met him and had been offered a substantial amount of money to spy on Sherlock.

Mycroft put his hands together and crossed his leg, raising an eyebrow at John and clearing his throat. John braced himself. "It has come to my attention," he began, coughing again and keeping his voice steady "that yourself and Sherlock are now.. an item, as it were." He said, trying to enunciate the correct format of words. John nodded and gestured for him to continue. "And while I offer my deepest congratulations, I also feel compelled to act as the protective elder brother." He leaned forward a little, looking at John with his emotionless eyes. John could see how he managed to maintain so much power as Mycroft really was quite menacing. "Now, we both know that Sherlock is particularly.. difficult, shall we say. And at last, we have realised that Sherlock does indeed feel things in his heart like.. _love." _He said the words as though it were poison and he wished to not dirty his mouth with it. "You must understand John, that as children, we learned that caring is definitely not an advantage, and yet, despite all of the teachings that kept myself and my brother strong all of those years, you came along and managed to make him feel. You managed to make him better and allow the emptiness within the heart that he denied be filled with goodness. I thank-you for that, John. From the bottom of my ice-cold heart.. Now, I have to warn you that while I do indeed care a great deal for you, I do express some concern. I know that you are an undeniably loyal man, John. It is a quality that I find most admirable within you, but Sherlock can be an arrogant, calculative man at the best of times and I wish for neither of you to drive each other away, as I believe that if in the rare chance that ..._love _is the bond that tethers two beings together for a lifetime, that it should go unchallenged. I wish to ask you John, could you ever leave me my brother? Could you ever set your compassionate sights on a different option?" Mycroft looked highly inquisitive and curious, as well as genuinely concerned and John gulped a little.

"I could never leave him. Even if, and God forbid it, this romantic connection between us were to be severed.. I don't doubt that we could remain best friends, as we were before this began." John said simply, every fibre of his being agreeing whole-heartedly with what he was saying.

Mycroft smiled, though he looked almost disappointed with it, though only for a second or two. "Good. Though I am not a man who celebrates affection, I have always seen the compassionate and care-giving nature of you, John. You improve my one broken brother and make him a better person. You help ease my worries, that is certain."

"You do know what love is, Mycroft." John said almost re-assuringly. Mycroft quirked his eyebrow again, looking like a mixture of disbelief and confusion. "Oh?" he replied.

"You love Sherlock, as much as I do, though differently. I know that because of some long-lost childish feud, you two have not seen eye to eye, but you always pick him up when he falls. All of those years when I wasn't there, you were... and you don't have to care for family Mycroft, is not a compulsory asset. It comes naturally, and naturally, you and Sherlock share a bond. Neither Holmes brother would let harm come to the other, unless it was under his hand. You have bonds that run deep, through blood-lock. You don't need to admit it, your love goes unspoken and that, is what I admire about you Mycroft. For a man who claims to be so bitter, you still remain so dutiful where your brother is concerned and honestly, that touches me." John said, every word was the truth. Mycroft's mouth fell open a little at John's speech. He leant forward and placed a hand on John's, which was steadied on his knee.

"He's so lucky he has you, John. And while it truthfully does make me undeniably jealous, it makes me exceedingly delighted to know he has someone like you John. And that routes back to the jealousy that we felt towards each other as boys.. I'd never speak this to him, you understand? But I do sometimes feel as though the heart that I too, deny does feel somewhat empty and I desire someone like you to be able to fill it." He released John's hand and John made a re-assuring smile, feeling a little flattered by his words.

"You'll find someone Mycroft, there was someone out there for everyone. I didn't think I'd ever find Sherlock and by God, we both know he never thought he'd find me." Mycroft nodded and stood up, extending his hand for John to shake it as he always did. He did so as he too stood up, and they met each others gaze.

Mycroft clapped him on the shouulder and spoke the final part of the conversation, "In case it wasn't obvious, dear John. This relationship most certainly has my blessing." He smiled properly, a strange but handsome sight. Mycroft then swept quickly from the house, probably off to make some crucial, impossible decision that only he or perhaps his younger brother could fix. John sat back down in the chair, going over the conversation in his head and smiling. He liked Mycroft and respected him greatly. It also eased John's mind to know just how loved Sherlock was, infact he didn't know how Sherlock remained so oblivious to his brother's care.

Family is one of the deepest and out-of-control bonds that exist within life and John completely adored the unspoken one between the Holmes boys. He smiled to himself. "And they thought that some childish feud would break them?" He giggled, getting up and getting on with his day, the talk with Mycroft having left him incredibly relaxed and tranquil


	5. Drinks

**Drinks (Part one)**

It had been three days since Mycroft's visit and neither Sherlock or John had heard anything more from him. Infact, they'd barely seen each other. They'd been on more cases but Sherlock had gone off on his own several times, much to John's protests. It was 7 o'clock and John had received a text earlier in the day from Lestrade, who had asked if he wanted to go for some drinks. He had showered up and dressed himself nicely, not smart but not lounging around the flat kind of clothes. John went into the Living Room to find Sherlock staring at him.

"Oh you're in then." John said, shrugging on his jacket. Sherlock was still in his coat and perched in his chair.

"Yes, Lestrade texted me."

John quirked his eyebrow up. He hadn't realised Sherlock was coming with them. "You're coming with us then?"

Confusion struck across his face, looking at John with query. "Coming with you where?"

John furrowed his brow. "For drinks.. with me and Greg?"

For a moment, John had assumed that he saw a flicker of jealousy but then he maintained his pokerface. "No, Greg told me that Mycroft was going to be arriving later. Another root canal I believe, otherwise he'd have bothered with me himself."

John smiled at him a little which Sherlock returned. Of all the people in the world, John was the only one who could ever conjure a genuine smile on the Detective. Sherlock stood up and strolled over to John, eye-ing him up and down as he went, he bit his lip lightly- John had to avert his eyes for a moment as that was far too sexy to resist. Sherlock pulled John to him in a tight embrace. He cradled John to him, his prized possession. He placed a kiss on John's head and he looked up, pouting his lips a little and Sherlock obligingly planted a sweet one there too.

"I'll see you later then." John said, pulling back a little. Sherlock smiled and did a discreet wink.

"Yes, you will."

They had another quick kiss before they released each other, though that felt like an impossible task for the both of them. Sherlock lightly groped John's bum as he went to walk out of the door. John yelped a little before laughing. "I love you." he called back, as he stepped through the door frame.

"I love you too." Sherlock said, his voice pure and innocent. John had to keep going before he felt compelled to run back up the stairs and cuddle him.

John hailed a taxi and clumbered in, reading the pub name out from his phone. The driver nodded and off he went. John turned round to watch 221B shrink in the distance, where his lover was at that moment. He smiled happily.


	6. John's Piece

**John's Piece**

Sherlock stood by the window, watching as John got into the taxi and shrunk into the distance. He sighed. He picked up his violin and bow, beginning to play his favourite composition, "John's piece" as he had dubbed it. It was a fiddly piece, with intricate sections, intricate to anyone other than him. That was how most people were to Sherlock. They were said to be so complex, so full of detail and yet it all seemed so painfully obvious to him. Except John. People could read him, true enough. But not the way Sherlock could. He had gained the ability to see into John's heart, to see his deepest desires and regrets and hopes... but he couldn't. It was like a spot of unknown for him as he had never experienced it before. It was thrilling but strange, very strange.

The piece also had a magnificent element to it. It was bold and striking, quite like the strong military doctor himself but it was unique and almost slightly edgy, damaged even. Infact, it would be undeniable to say that its likeliness to John was uncanny. John is a strong man, but a broken one too. He was shot and hurt, in a time when Sherlock did not know him and so he could not save him. But he did. He brought him out of his abyss- his loneliness and showed him new thrills and excitements. Excitements that they would share together. That fixed the both of them. They found each other in what seemed like consuming smoke of darkness.

Sherlock closed his eyes as his arm drifted the bow instinctively on the strings. It was a beautiful piece, composed with complete precision and played with such passion. It was almost as though he played the violin as though it were John, he used all of the care that his heart could muster. Care that could only and would only be directed at John. His John. Sherlock smiled as the melody came to its sweet end.


	7. Problems

**Problems**

John met Lestrade inside the pub, which was quite busy as it was Friday night. There was a range of ages in the pub, though John assumed a lot of the people here were regulars as they seemed to be talking to parties that weren't even part of their own. Lestrade was leant against the bar, talking to the landlord and presumably ordering a drink. John approached him with a smile and received a clap on the shoulder.

"John!" Lestrade beamed, receiving a responsive squeeze on the shoulder from John. "What're you having?" He jerked his head towards the bar.

"Ooh, a Strongbow would be nice, ta!" he smiled, leaning against the bar too.

Lestrade nodded and told the barman, who quickly whipped up their drinks. Lestrade had a cold pint of Fosters.

He was still dressed in his work suit, his jacket still on, John noticed. His tanned, handsome face seemed lined with more than smile lines but worry too? John wasn't sure, he was no Sherlock Holmes. They then ignited usual male chatter, ranging from all sorts of topics, from the trivial to the philosophical, though they did delve in too deep and begin discussing the woes of the worlds as that would be a real downer on their good atmosphere.

Mycroft tapped lightly on the door to 221B, where he had been just three days earlier. Though this time, he planned to speak to his brother rather than John Watson. Mrs Hudson opened the door and smiled sweetly at him, ushering him and closing the door behind him. She didn't follow him up, but she waited at the foot of the stairs while he climbed them, before going back into her own flat. She was a courteous woman, a strong believer in manners and good behaviour. That was exactly why she disapproved of the furniture and kitchen appliances being trampeled over by Sherlock Holmes in some shape or form.

Sherlock heard slightly heavy footsteps on the stairs, ones he recognised immediately. "Good evening, Mycroft." he said curtly, stood by the windw and looking out into the street. He turned and walked over to his chair. Mycroft took John's seat and the two brothers scanned each other intently. Mycroft looked different, troubled even. Sherlock noticed that automatically, it was not an obvious sign but he knew his brother all too well which acted in his deductive favour.

"Brother." he smiled very slightly, his eyebrows furrowed together. Sherlock looked at him expectantly, waiting for some form of explanation.

Mycroft shifted a little, looking uncomfortable. Secretly, this was filling Sherlock with glee but he knew better than to show it.

"I fear I have a _problem_, dear Brother."

"Oh?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.

"Earlier in the week, I came by to speak to John. We spoke, naturally, of your newfound relationship as well as lightly touching on another matter. One that, it would seem, has become more than just a fleeting statement by the Doctor." He explained vaguely. Upon hearing the mention of John, Sherlock's attention was entirely fixed upon his brother.

"And what was this.. _other matter_?" He eyed his brother suspiciously.

After convincing one another to drink down a few shots of Vodka, Lestrade was positively gone and John was on the brink of drunkness- in an extreme state of being tipsy. After laughing more about nonsense, Lestrade looked at John with big, round eyes. John quirked a drunken eyebrow. "Something bothering you, Greg?" His voice sounded reasonably steady.

Lestrade nodded sullenly, pouting a little bit. John frowned and put a hand to the mans shoulder. "Well, c'mon then, speak your mind!" he said with a comforting smile.

"The-the thing is, Johnny-boy, I-I've realised something or I think that I 'ave. I dunno.. I mean, you know that my marriage 'as fallen apart, 'dun't ya?"

John nodded, bemused by Lestrade's slurred, lazy dialect.

"Well, I th-think that there is someone.. someone who I didn't realise was there the whole time. And I think I got feelings for that someone, d'ya know what I mean? But it's a bit of a..um- _problem_" His head swayed like a bobble-head, he looked quite sweet.

John thought about his response. "Yeah, yeah. I know what you mean. So, who is this someone then?"

Lestrade retrieved another shot and threw it down his throat, gulping and looking at John with his doey eyes.

Mycroft gulped and shuffled forward a little in his seat, lowering his tone out of... embarassment, perhaps? Sherlock wasn't sure and found himself eager to know what had thrown his otherwise steady and controlled, brother. "John said that there is someone out there for everyone. For me.. and amazingly, dear Brother, I think that I have indeed, found someone.." He looked at Sherlock, waiting for some kind of judgement.

Sherlock blinked a couple of times, surprised by this revelation. In all the years that he had known him, Mycroft had always stressed the unimportance of care and affection. Sherlock hadn't ever imagined him with anyone, not because he didn't deserve anyone, because even he knew that his Brother needed someone, but out of his determination to be cold- ice cold.

"Okay. So this um, situation, why is it a problem? Who is this 'someone'?" Sherlock asked carefully, trying to hold back his curiosity.

Mycroft averted his eyes, looking anywhere but at Sherlock. His palms were sweating, his hair had appeared to curl a little more during this conversation. Why was Mycroft having such trouble revealing the identity? A light bulb seemed to switch on in Sherlock's head and Mycroft, casting a quick glance to him, noticed this automatically- he seemed to brace himself.

"I _know_ them, don't I?" Sherlock asked, his eyes burning with curiosity.

Mycroft nodded sheepishly.

John waited for a few moments, but Lestrade couldn't seem to bring up the words. John patted him on the shoulder reassuringly.

"Why're you finding it so hard to tell me?" John asked quietly, sort of like he was speaking to a child. Greg pouted again and looked up at John through his lashes.

John gasped, "I know them, don't I?" he asked, almost excitedly.

"Who is it, Mycroft?"

Mycroft took a deep and steady breath preparing himself for the confession, Sherlock felt as though he was on a cliffhanger.

"C'mon then, out with it." John joked, his eyebrows raised and leaning closer to Greg, encouraging him to speak up.

Lestrade took a deep breath, preparing himself.

"It's Lestrade."

"It's Mycroft."


	8. Playing Cupid

**Playing Cupid**

At exactly the same moment, Sherlock and John gasped. Completely seperated and across town from each other and they managed to react simultaneously. Both of them fell back a little in their seats, a little surprised about the revelation. Greg, the one who was very drunk and so very carefree was the one who broke the silence between himself and John.

"Is.. is it bad?" he slurred, looking at John with sad, doey eyes.

John snapped out of his shock and smiled at Greg clumsily. "No, no. I think that's very sweet. Very sweet, indeed." He smiled, his brain seemed to be working like clockwork despite the alcohol and he grinned mischeviously. "Come on then, mate." He stood up, helping Greg rise to his feet, though he didn't struggle that much. He looked very confused up at John, wondering where they were going. They climbed into a taxi and John continued to smile, a plan in his drunken head.

Finally, after what felt like lifetimes for the very nervous and embarassed Mycroft, Sherlock spoke.

"I think.. that Greg would be indeed make a good suitor." Sherlock kept his voice very even and composed, when secretly he was frantic inside. He wanted to speak more casually about it with his brother, but they had always remained so very void of emotion when it came to their conversations, keeping it all internal.

Mycroft smiled a little, Sherlock's sentence by their definition, was the equivalent of saying "Go for it, you two would be so sweet together!" He coughed and shifted in his seat a little bit.

"He's a straight man, Sherlock." Mycroft said, sounding a little disappointed.

Sherlock sniggered a little. "So was John."

That made Mycroft smile a little brighter, remembering the Doctor's kind words from the days previous.

"Yes, well in any event, what do you suggest my plan of action towards this problem would be?"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "It's not a problem, Mycroft. You just... care for someone, that's all. But even so, I'm not sure. Would you be prepared to confront Lestrade?"

Mycroft thought about it, his stomach getting butterflies at the mention of Greg's name. "Unless I was certain that the outcome would be in my favour, I don't think I would."

"You can wage war and deal with the problems of the Common Wealth but you can't confess an attraction to a friend." Sherlock laughed to himself, that sibling tension ever-present.

Mycroft shot him a glare.

"Oh, John. I just, I just like him sooo much." Greg slurred, resting his head on John's shoulder. John smiled, swaying a little in his seat himself.

"I know you do, mate."

Greg smiled happily and giggled to himself. "I wish, I wish I could see him and just give him a big, big hug!"

John grinned again, feeling as though he was the master of a greater game that was afoot. The taxi pulled up on the curb and John paid the driver some money. He climbed out and Greg fell out after him clumsily, causing them both to have a fit of hysterical giggles. Greg wrapped his arm around John's shoulders and John took his waist, swaggering forward.

"How much do you want him, mate?" John slurred with a giggle.

"So fucking much, John like..like I'd bake him a cake and everything!"

John couldn't stop himself from laughing heartily at him. "What're you going to do when you next see him?"

"I'm gonna tell him..I'm gonna bloody tell him, Johnny-boy just you watch me!"

John laughed again, both cackling like hyenas. John opened the door quietly, putting his finger on his lips to Greg to indicate to be quiet. He whispered rude things about his desires for Mycroft and John giggled quietly, making their way up the stairs as quietly as their drunkness would allow.

Sherlock smiled again, "Well, what do you expect to do, dear brother? Ignore your feelings whenever you see the man?" He scoffed.

Mycroft sighed, frowning. "Honestly, I wish I could. If I see him Sherlock, I don't know how I'll react. I.. urm.. I desire him with everything I have." He flushed a shade of pink and Sherlock had to withold his laughter at this conversation.

Mycroft shook his head and stood up abruptly, feeling as though this conversation had been virtually no help at all. Sherlock stood up too, purely so he could still see the embarassed look on his brothers face which amused him greatly. He did want him to be happy though. He really did.

Mycroft went to speak when both of the Holmes' boys heard footsteps on the landing and then a familiar short figure stumbled into the flat with lots of giggles and whispering as he pulled another figure into the room- John and Greg.

They giggled and stumbled, looking up dumbly at the two brothers who were staring at them with surprise. Mycroft's face was a picture.

John looked up as though he was a little boy been caught up to no good. He released Greg who had just noticed Mycroft's presence, he gaped at him with his big brown eyes and went a little pink.

"Oh, hey Mycrofttt!" John greeted with a big smile, swaying with the surprised Greg. He then looked between the pair and giggled, before pouting his lips and breaking away from Greg. He stumbled forward a little towards Sherlock. "Sherlawk?" he asked innocently. "C-Can you come to the bathroom wi' me please? W-we need to check the taps 'ave still got water!"

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, refraining from smiling at John's drunken nonsense. He moved forward a couple of paces and John seized him by the arm, dragging him to the bathroom in a couple of seconds. He closed the door quickly and Sherlock stood there looking at him with confusion.

"Check the taps have water?" He repeated sarcastically. "What are you up to?" he eyed him suspiciously.

John grinned cunningly and pressed his finger to his lips, giving Sherlock a quick wink before falling towards the door, pressing his ear against it.

"John, what in God's name are you d-" John shh-ed him and pulled him towards him, cocking his head towards the door, indicating for him to listen.

Sherlock obligingly though reluctantly, pressed his own ear against the door.

Mycroft and Lestrade remained fixed in their spots for a minute or two, staring intently at each other with a mixture of lust, care and embarassment. Mycroft shook his head and coughed, stepping forward a little bit which made Greg look him up and down.

"I- I um.. I should go." He said awkwardly, aiming to walk past Greg with a casual smile but he was stopped by a clumsy, drunken arm.

"Noo, no 'Crofty." Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the man, scanning his face. They leaned in towards each other without thinking, the tension between them at a boiling point. Neither needed to say anything, though neither did entirely understand. Mycroft's breathing was ragged which was driving Lestrade crazy until after a few more deep breaths, when their lips suddenly collided together. Instinctively, Mycroft's hands flew to Lestrade's cheek and hair, pulling him in closely. Lestrade snaked his arms around Mycroft's waist, pulling him too. Both of them were thanking whatever lucky stars had granted them their desires as their lips danced and meshed together passionately.

John and Sherlock heard the few words and then silence. They looked at each other confusedly. Sherlock took the silence as an opportunity to whisper to John. "What _are _you up to, John?" John strained his ears, trying to listen for conversation but heard nothing.

"_Playing Cupid_, love" he whispered, with a grin.

Sherlock put the pieces together and nodded, "Greg likes him back?"

John raised an eyebrow but nodded, looking confused.

"Mycroft told me he had feelings for him while you were out." he whispered. "So, checking the taps was your way of playing matchmaker?" Sherlock scoffed.

John nodded before frowning, wondering if he had indeed kindled a new relationship for Mycroft and Greg. He carefully and quietly opened the door, making Sherlock whisper his name a little frantically. John crept to the edge of the kitchen, seeing if they had gone but he was greeted with a much more shocking sight.

Mycroft and Greg had made their kiss very passionate indeed, their hands groping and touching any part of each other they could find. Oblivious to their onlooker. John gasped and retreated quickly back to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation from John.

"Mycroft..and Greg.. they're getting off.. in our living room." He said inbetween breaths.

Sherlock went wide-eyed, slightly repulsed by the thought of Mycroft getting off with someone, let alone Greg. "So, we're stuck in here until they leave, which we can't be sure of? Good work, drunk Cupid!" Sherlock whispered sarcastically.

John shook his head at the man and rolled his eyes. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, your brother has the sense to be alone in a room and get off with someone.." Sherlock didn't quite understand him. "Sherlock, we're trapped in a bathroom.. for God knows how long." John grinned, trying to nudge him on the right track.

Sherlock then smiled, forgetting about his brother and Greg. "Come here, Cupid."

They went together like magnets, pressing their lips to one another happily just like the pair of people in their living room.


	9. Fascinating

**Fascinating**

After what must've been an hour, John snuck out of the bathroom yet again, creeping to the edge of the kitchen. No-one was there, neither Mycroft or Greg.

"Sherlock, they're gone." He called quietly, his volume still hushed though he didn't quite know why.

Sherlock stuck his head out of the bathroom and then satisfied that John was correct, he stepped out properly. He crossed his arms over his chest as he watched John sway a little, swaggering around the Living room and peering in every direction- as though the other two might be hiding. Sherlock rolled his eyes and chuckled lightly, John was a fascinating study when under the influence of alcohol.

John turned around to see Sherlock chuckling, he drew his eyebrows together and pursed his lips, though it looked very clumsy and dopey. He put his head up and did his best to march in a straight line past Sherlock and into their bedroom. As he past, Sherlock turned his head slowly to follow, grinning at his idiot. He then followed, closing the door behind him.

John seemed to have thrown off all of his clothes other than his boxers in every direction of the room and Sherock looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. He removed the same garments of his own wear and climbed into his side of the bed, meeting John in the middle. He was still pouting like a child and Sherlock put a hand to his cheek smiling at it. He then replayed the events of that night in his head, looking back at John with a slightly confused expression.

"Wait, so you just got my brother and Lestrade together?"

John's pout extended into a wide smile, looking very impressed with himself. He nodded.

"Well that wasn't something I ever predicted. A difficult task in any event, but especially well done, given your intoxication."

John waggled his eyesbrows playfully and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, coiling their legs together as Sherlock moved his arms to wrap around John's shoulders, pulling him to his chest. John looked up at the taller man's face with another messy smile and Sherlock couldn't help but grin at it.

"You really are fascinating, John Watson."

John mulled the comment over for a moment, unable to decipher whether it was an insult or a compliment. He chose the latter (which was correct).

"You know that." He winked drunkenly, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's lips before snuggling against him and closing his eyes. He fell asleep safely, feeling protected by the arms that were round him.

Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's head and smiled. "I love you." he whispered, and John hummed in his sleep, not conscious enough to reply but enough to hold him tighter and smiled as he drifted into bliss. Soon enough, Sherlock followed in his path, falling into sleep.

John was the only person who could ever get him to sleep soundly. Which in itself, was indeed, fascinating.


	10. Waking Up

**Waking up**

Gregory Lestrade woke up groggily, his head pounding. He writhed around a little, opening one eye, a small fraction. He saw the satin sheets and sprawl of a duvet. He was in a bed. Good. He writhed around again, rolling to his side, his eyes closed again. He sighed contently, ignoring the pain in his head as the bed he was on seemed huge and very comfortable. The material felt like Egyptian Cotton. Which it was.

After he felt something strange just to his right, a movement of something, or someone. He opened his eye slightly again and the sight of it made him open them both with surprise. Just next to him, was Mycroft Holmes. His auburn hair sprawled a little messily on the pillow, his lower half covered but his torso exposed. He was nuzzled into the pillow, sleeping. He looked very peaceful and innocent, which was a look he rarely ever bore when he was awake.

Greg tried to scramble his memory from the previous night. He had gone out for drinks with John and gotten incredibly drunk, then it was a blur. Then he remembered kissing Mycroft in 221B and ending up here. He continued to rack his brains, watching the sleeping Mycroft. Upon the nakedness of his body, Greg wondered whethe they had made things much more intimate. He couldn't tell if Mycroft was wearing underwear or not, so he carefully lifted the duvet and looked down at himself. He was in just his boxers. So, they hadn't had sex then. Greg frowned a little, and upon realising what he was doing he mentally kicked himself. He didn't want to have drunk relations with Mycroft Holmes. "If anything like that is to happen, it should be when we're both sober enough to remember." He reminded himself mentally. Still, he was disappointed as he really did appreciate the view he had of the powerful man next to him. He smiled at the sight of him, it was enough head.

Mycroft woke up slowly and easily, it was the best nights sleep he had had in a long time, and it was almost definitely because of Greg. He kept his eyes closed, and turned closer to him. He could feel his gaze upon him. "Staring are you, Gregory?" He murmured sleepily, rubbing his eyes and stretching a little, before nuzzling back into the pillow.

Greg chuckled slightly. "Yeah.. I am actually." He said a little embarrassedly. "So I think it's pretty fair to say that I have feelings for you.. well, that's pretty obvious." Greg's cheeks went a little pink and Mycroft slowly opened his eyes, smiling at the sight of Greg. He didn't smile often, but with him it came naturally. "Yes, that is a pretty fair judgement." He nodded, mumbling slightly as he was still sleepy. "It is also very much requited."

Greg smiled, nuzzling his face to the pillow before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Mycroft's who responded sweetly. They pulled away with little smiles, brushing their noses against each other affectionately and cutely. Greg closed his eyes for a moment before opening them up again, he spoke quite sheepishly as he was scared of the response he would get. "Mycroft... are we like, together now?"

Mycroft creased his brow for a moment in thought, pouting a little. "I don't know.. would you like to be?" He asked softly.

Greg smiled and nodded a little embarrassedly again. "Good. Because I want us to be too." Mycroft said with a little smile, kissing Greg gently again. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft and cosied against him instead of the pillow, which Mycroft happily accepted.

For the first time in his life, Mycroft woke up without feeling weights on his shoulders. He felt free and more importantly, he felt loved.


	11. Lucky

**Lucky**

A couple of days later, Sherlock and John entered a university flat, shared by several students who were studying in London. Walking through the dingy, untidy place, they stepped carefully until they were upstairs and in one of the bedrooms. They avoided knocking into any of the police officers that were inspecting things and setting up equipment. They went into the room where the body was and Lestrade was stood inspecting it form a precautionary distance. He looked up upon their entrance and grinned.

"If it isn't Cupid himself." He smirked at John, who chuckled and shrugged. Sherlock looked between them and then rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Successful plan, you're with my brother, woo. Now, could you please get back to the case you dragged me here for?" He spoke sarcastically, and Lestrade sighed, telling him the basics and letting him get to work. He stepped over to John who was watching Sherlock inspect the body from every angle. "Thank-you mate." Lestrade smiled, and John clapped him on the shoulder.

Sherlock made a loud noise of irritation at the pair of them. They stopped talking and turned their attention to the crime at hand. But how could they be blamed? It was hard not to just stop and wonder how either of them had managed to get a Holmes boy. The most brilliant, dangerous and clever brothers. They were undeniably lucky.


	12. A whole week

**A whole week**

"No, John. I don't like this. I cannot stand Mycroft when he drifts in and out of the flat for a few minutes, let alone a whole week in Surrey, far from the city and immersed in trees, surrounded by Mycroft and his rotund belly." Sherlock growled, pulling his suitcase out of one of Mycroft's cars and talking across the top of it to John, who was mid-pulling his own bag out.

"Sherlock, for starters, he's not fat. And I thought you liked the sound of this case?" He asked impatiently, the stroppy Sherlock taking a lot of energy out of him.

"Of course. Bite marks on the neck, attacks only at night, rid of all blood. Another mythical being and legend, yes, love it. But not Mycroft being here. Or Greg. Why are they always bloody together anyway?" He huffed and took his bag, marching up a path which lead to a beautiful cottage, which happened to be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by fields and forestry.

John heaved a sigh and shut the car door, smiling at the driver and following him up the path. "Because, Sherlock," he said in between breaths having had to pick up Sherlock's case, which he had decided to abandon mid-path. "Not only are they from the Government and Scotland Yard, they are also in a relationship." John pointed out, reaching Sherlock and managing to juggle the keys to the cottage out of his pocket, unlocking the door.

"Whose stupid idea was that?" Sherlock snapped, and John shot him a glare, causing Sherlock to retreat and instead actually take his bag from him. The cottage was small, small and cosy, but it could easily accommodate the four of them, though Mycroft and Greg still weren't here.

John went upstairs and picked the bigger bedroom for he and Sherlock, dumping the bags down and going down to Sherlock who was in the Living room which you were directly in when you went to and from either story. He was inspecting the wooden beams which were sorting the cottage, with incredible concentration. "You know, most people would have a look about the cottage, but you inspect wood?" John laughed slightly and Sherlock looked at him with an expression which showed that he was none-the-wiser. John shook his head at the man and went into the adjoining kitchen. He found some tea bags and mugs, as well as a kettle and switched it on to boil. They couldn't go hunt some alleged "Vampire" without a good tea to fuel them now,_ could they_?

**AN: Haven't posted in too long, have been very busy with college. This little subplot will continue in several drabbles. Any thing you like/dislike? Let me know! Feedback as always is appreciated, thank-you :)**


	13. Not a flirt

**Not a flirt**

After John having managed to sit Sherlock down on a small couch and enjoy his cup of tea and the tranquility of the country (though Sherlock claimed that retiring to the country would only be interesting if there were bees to be kept, and sadly for him, there weren't any). Soon enough though, they were refueled and relaxed enough to know that they could conduct research without having the heavy weights of tiredness pulling on their eyelids and niggling the idea of sleep into their minds.

"So, what are we going to do now?" John asked, eager to get things done- much to Sherlock's surprise.  
"Talk to the locals." The deep baritone rumbled in the response, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"What're you gonna do? Pretend to cry again?" John chuckled.

"If need be. In the same respect that you will flirt if and when I require you too."

John scoffed, and rubbed his chin slightly. His hairline receding as he listened to the taller man. "You are joking?" He turned so that he was in more of an 'open discussion' style position on the sofa next to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at John with the amusement an owner may give to a puppy who had just fallen over, adorable but pathetic. "Of course not. But witnesses are unreliable and fickle, especially those who can only enlighten us with here-say and tall tales. A charming, blonde, army doctor may stir what little of their memory they have."

John pondered this for a moment. "I don't particularly want to flirt with someone who isn't you."  
This time, it was Sherlock who scoffed. "You always flirt, John. Whether you realise it or not. Faithful as you are, you are exceedingly charming when you need to be. I could go so far as to say you can be more effective in charming the fickle morons than I."

Modest, as ever. But John shook his head. "I do not flirt!" he protested.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sipped at the remainder of his tea. While John mumbled to himself about what utter bullshit Sherlock was spouting.

It was at this moment that Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade entered the cottage. A big grin on the detective inspectors and slight flush to Mycroft's cheek which Sherlock automatically noticed. And he would've attempted to try and humiliate the pair, if John hadn't kicked him in the shin- knowing the look he got all too well.

Sherlock scowled at him and John returned it. "Mycroft." John nodded with a small smile and then grinned a little mischievously at Greg, who was giving John a smile which suggested many things about why Mycroft was so flushed. Sherlock observed all three of them and rolled his eyes again, bored of his company already. "Yes, well now we've had these pointless greetings can we get down to the reason we're here?"


	14. Talking to the Locals

**Talking to the Locals**

John adjusted his coat slightly, watching around him aimlessly. The small village was quite beautiful. It exceeded Dartmoor easily. It was old, but pleasantly old. A small Post Office and pub. It was the kind of place that everyone knew each other's business. A proper English community, and in a way, this was where John had expected himself to end up. The old Army doctor who keeps himself to himself, only coming out to help and do his service. Maybe a father, maybe not. But now, that wasn't where John saw himself and he didn't want to see himself that way. As beautiful as it was, the bright lights of London were unbearable to part from and he could think of no place better to live out the rest of his life. Especially when he'd be in the capital with Sherlock. Who he planned on being with for the remainder of his existence.

It was quite cold out, and John shivered slightly. He walked the cobbled pavement and observed the little shops that he passed, all cute and filled with all kinds of objects. From old furniture, to incense sticks. He had been sent along with Lestrade, who was already all that pub to get in touch with the locals while the Holmes brothers quarreled at home about whom would be doing what. They had decided that of the four men, they would be the ones who would cause alarm among the community if anything for being too professional and administrative looking. So John and Greg were the logical choice to get familiarised with the community, finding out as much as they could. Authority always seemed to close people's mouths rather than open them.

After a few more steps, John was entering the warm pub, which was fit to burst with people. It was filled with a range of ages, from old men telling their stories to younger lads and girls, who looked more suited to being at University or in a Student bar somewhere. John spotted Greg, talking to the pub landlord and he nodded to John, who smiled at his friend. The landlord noticed this instantly, greeting John with a winning smile. He was a middle-aged chap, who was beginning to bald and age on his round face. His cheeks were tainted slightly with pink and he had a pig-like nose, his wide lips spread in a big smile and his eyes relatively smaller in comparison to the rest of him. He seemed incredibly jolly, given that there was apparently a vampire on the loose.

"What can I getcha, mate?"

"Um.. a pint of Guinness will do nicely," John smiled, one hand resting on the edge of the bar, standing a little apart from Greg, "Busy in here, eh?"

The landlord seemed happy to talk to new company, clearly a boastufl man. An extravert to the extreme. "Yeah, bloody love it!" He was fixing John's drink as he spoke, "All this vamp nonsense, s'got everybody all scared like. Not that I mind, anyone here's welcome and it's good fer the community to 'av somewhere for everyone." He pushed John's drink forward with a smile, and John gave the man a fiver. For a moment, John could almost swear he saw the man's eyes light up at the sight of money. Greedy as well as boastful then it would seem. His heavy country accent seeping through all of his words. He was a very local man, having lived in these parts for the most part of his life.

John took a glug of his drink and licked his lips, looking at Greg as though waiting for him to speak. "Yeah before you got here John, George here was telling me about what happened just last night."  
"What happened last night?" John asked, giving a good act of interest which made Greg smile to himself.  
George looked like he was going to burst with joy. A new customer, some monster bringing revenue in and a chance to tell a tale- ruddy brilliant. "Well, here's the thing like. Y've no doubt been reading about it in the paper? Those poor girls drained of blood, puncture marks on their necks, always in places they've no need to be in and all sorts of people drifting in and out of our little village. Well just last night, we had this lass, Cassie I think her name was, yeah anyway, she came in here- face as white as a sheet, mind and her hands shaking. So naturally, I asks there poor girl what's 'appened and she tells me that she's just seem some bloke, shady fellar, he was following her about and when she turned round to see what he was playing at, he flashed a deadly smirk at her. He had teeth like dogs, she said. Sharp as razors, 'could cut through your flesh like cheese-wire. And she screamed, ran here. An' this bloke just watched her, grinning as he watched her run away- frightened 'alf to death."

He looked positively proud once he had finished his story and John raised his eyebrows as though he were surprised by what he heard. Though having spent so much time with Sherlock, he could pick out some things that were wrong with the story. "And this was just last night?" He pressed George to go on, and subliminally tell him a bit more.

"Yeah, about nine-ish. Just down the alley that's not in this street, but down Stone road and to the right. Crestfall Close." He nodded, satisfied that he had recalled the girl's story.

"What was she doing out on her own? I mean, with this killer on the loose?" John scoffed

.  
"That's our lasses for yer, says they don't need protecting. Says they'll take on this vamp with a set of keys and bloody high heel! Especially Cassie, she's a right brazen one her. Could probably give David Haye a run for his money!" He chuckled, making John and Greg smile just to keep him happy.

More people stood at the edge of the bar and George excused himself. John leaned against the bar and Greg bit the inside of his mouth. "Certain bits of that don't make sense, do they?" Greg pointed out rhetorically and John nodded. They were trying their best to accumulate some information for the Holmes' boys.

**AN: Thanks for the reviews, and for your continual reading! Not too sure how I feel about this chapter, so reviews would really mean a lot to give me some feedback and criticism. Thank-you! **


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